


Anatomy of desire

by elzed



Category: The OC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-04
Updated: 2005-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzed/pseuds/elzed





	Anatomy of desire

Many many thanks to [](http://bonnied.livejournal.com/profile)[**bonnied**](http://bonnied.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing this.  


_Lindsay_

Lindsay closes the door of her bedroom after Ryan leaves and sits on her rumpled bed, breathing heavily. She would walk down with him to the front door, for one last kiss, but she doesn’t want her mother to see her, flushed and out of breath, nipples erect under her T-shirt, looking for all the world like she’s just gone three rounds with Ryan on her bed (which she has, but all above board). She especially does _not_ want her mother to see her eyes, swimming with arousal and wanting more, even if she’s not sure what more is. She knows they’re a dead giveaway, the eyes.  
  
She hopes Ryan is going to be able to slip past her mom discreetly, concealing the hard-on he’s been rubbing against her thigh and crotch for the past hour and a half. Or maybe two hours, she can’t tell anymore. But somehow she doesn’t care, because she feels woozy, drunk with desire, high. If that’s what drugs feel like, she’s beginning to get why junkies become junkies. As for sex… yeah, she’s starting to get the point of sex, too.

She lies on her bed – she can smell Ryan on the sheets still, feel the warmth of his body, its imprint just there. She molds her body to it, tries to remember how exactly the two of them were entwined, to recall the feel of his hands, of his mouth. She wants something more, she does, but she doesn’t know what precisely.

If she had a diary she’d go and write in it right now. She’d write about this boy, Ryan, and about how he makes her feel completely different from her usual self with a million new feelings blossoming inside her body – feelings no other boy has awakened before him. Not that there have been that many but come on, she has _dated_. She’s kissed other boys. She’s let their hands feel her up through her top, touch her breasts, occasionally allowed a wandering hand graze past her crotch before pushing it away. It just hasn’t been anything like this. And she has never wanted to go further either.

Ever since that evening at the bus stop, she’s felt a connection with Ryan; a physical connection, something that makes sense to her body not just her mind. Oh, she _likes_ Ryan, he’s sweet and caring and he _really_ likes her – he chased her all the way home to tell her that. And he’s clever and attentive and God, he’s so good-looking she could die sometimes when she glances at him sideways though her long hair in class, while he’s reading something and sucking the tip of his pen. But all this is… almost irrelevant. Well, not irrelevant – she knows enough to know it is probably linked to what she’s feeling – but the intensity of her physical response to him is actually a little scary.

She walks in a dream, her senses aroused, on edge. When Ryan touches her – even a light touch, a caress on the arm, she feels it radiating throughout her body. His skin burns hers, a good burn, but a burn nonetheless. She’s floating on a cloud of hormones and it is even – and _that_ is sacrilege – interfering with her ability to think. But the worst is she doesn’t care. All she wants is more; more touching, more of his kisses, his tongue in her mouth, and his hot breath on her ear, and his nipping at her neck which makes her squirm and moan and sends electric shocks down to her core, more of his hands feeling her up through her clothes, more of his hard-on pressed against her.

Lindsay feels like she could spend all day on a bed touching and kissing Ryan, and that she would be willing to let him go further, maybe slip his hand under her shirt, allow him unrestricted access to her breasts, his fingers on her nipples. And the thought of it makes her heart race. There’s something about him that makes her feel like a woman, not like a stupid nerdy schoolgirl. Well, not stupid or _that_ nerdy, but.

She thinks about it, and she admits to herself that she wants him to touch her between her legs. For real, not just his fingers pushing against denim, or his thigh between hers, rubbing and pressing her most intimate, delicate spot. No, Lindsay thinks, what would it be like to feel _his_ fingers where only _her_ fingers have been? Would he know how to touch her; how to stroke her to make her feel good? Would he be able to do what she does sometimes – often, these days – at night in her bed when the longing gets too much and she finds she needs release, stroking herself urgently, thinking of his fingers, his mouth, until she is wound up tight like a spring and then uncoils in a sharp burst of pleasure?

Without thinking her hand is sliding down there now and God, she is so _wet_ she’s thankful girls don’t show arousal like boys do because it’s positively embarrassing. Embarrassing and arousing and she secretly knows that Ryan would love to know that she wants him so much. Even if she doesn’t really know whether she actually _wants_ him, because the thought of his _penis_ actually going _inside_ her is just … too much. For now. But he would find her wetness arousing and also, if he was touching her there, it would feel…

“Lindsay? Dinner’s ready!”

Dear God. Already? Her mouth is dry. Her heart is thumping in her chest. Mom will notice something. She will.

“Coming, Mom. Give me a minute!”

She rushes into the bathroom, quickly smoothes down her top, buttons her pants, pats her hair down. She washes her hands and face, a splash of cold water to try to dampen the blush on her cheeks. She looks at herself in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out what her mother will see. But she can’t help looking for what Ryan sees when he smiles at her, and whispers she’s beautiful in her ear before starting again with the hot kissing and the tongue.

She looks in the bathroom mirror, and she realizes she is in trouble. She, Lindsay Gardner, the straight A student, all-round sensible girl, physics nerd extraordinaire, is completely falling for Ryan. Not just that, but she totally wants him to do unspecified hot things to her body, and if her mother wasn’t here and calling her to the table, she would probably be following Ryan back to his pool house for more.

Shit.

\--- - -- --- --------------- - ------------------ ------------ ---- --------------- -----------

_Ryan_

All afternoon, he and Lindsay have been playing a game. He’s been desperately trying to sate the craving he has for her body – not very successfully it has to be said – and at the same time make _her_ want more. It’s been a long slow game of cat and mouse and this time Ryan is going _really_ slowly, slower than he ever has, even with Marissa, because clearly Lindsay is not so experienced. Okay, Marissa had just had the one lover – but she couldn’t have gone out with Luke for years and not gone past _some_ boundaries. Lindsay? Somehow he suspects no boy has seen her naked, let alone gotten his hands into her pants.

So Ryan has been holding himself in check, pulling back, keeping his hands _over_ Lindsay’s shirt as he lets his thumb rub her nipple. It’s a thin tank top, and there’s a flimsy bra underneath so when her nipple peaks it really shows and he dips his head and breathes hot on it and then flicks his tongue and is rewarded by a little moan. He reckons if he tried to slip his hand inside her bra now, she’d let him. But he is really, really trying to control his urges, not to scare her away. So he swallows, takes a deep breath, counts to ten in his head and then presses his crotch against her thigh even though it only makes things worse.

When he looks at her face he sees she’s tipped her head back, her hair fanning around on her pillow, and her eyes are closed, and she’s flushed, a real deep redhead flush that creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks; her lips are parted and she’s panting. Jesus, she looks so sexy in her abandon, so totally fuckable. The last thing Ryan needs is further arousal but this vision has just succeeded in making him even harder. This is getting uncomfortable so he pulls back and rolls off her for a breather.

He tries to remember when was the last time he indulged in that kind of petting – before he came to Newport that is, because this is very much like early days with Marissa before she ever let him feel her up. He feels like he’s back in junior high or earlier, except that when he was doing that stuff then he hadn’t experienced the real thing and somehow it was less… _frustrating_. Not that he doesn’t enjoy the heavy make-out session – God, he can’t keep his hands and his mouth off Lindsay – but he knows that he’ll be heading straight home to the pool house shower for a little alone time when he leaves here. No doubt about it.

He wonders idly how long it will take if all goes well, before Lindsay considers sleeping with him. Well, not ‘idly’ exactly, because this is a question of some import to him and the earlier the better frankly, but at the same time he really, really doesn’t want to rush her. Also, he is a little nervous at being her first – it’s been a while since he was anyone’s first and while he knows a lot more now he also has more of an idea of what it means to a girl. Like, a lot.

“What time is it,” she breathes, her voice barely audible.

“Nearly six thirty.”

“You should go – my Mom is probably making dinner right now and… I’m not sure you should stay for dinner in your… _state_ ,” she says, propping herself onto her elbow and letting her eyes travel down just for a second. She’s blushing again and Ryan plants a quick kiss on her lips.

“Okay. Walk me to the door?”

She shakes her head. “Only my bedroom door. I need to straighten out a little before dinner with Mom. I mean, look at me.”

So he does. And he smiles at her and whispers, “You’re beautiful,” and grabs her again for a dirty open-mouth hot and heavy kiss, the kind that makes her moan into his mouth and makes his dick strain in his jeans. When they pull apart they’re both breathless and Lindsay’s eyes are out of focus.

“Ryan, you really have to go,” she pleads, but he knows that if he kisses her again she’ll give in. He makes an immense effort of will and drags himself off the bed and to her door.

“Later,” he says to her with a last little wave and he makes it down the stairs at breakneck speed and through the front door like a slingshot, with a quick “Goodbye Mrs. Wheeler” to the kitchen, but without having to stop and face her with the fucking tent pole he has in his pants.

Outside he decides to push his bike for a little while because right now his jeans are just too tight for anything else. At least that’s what it feels like.

And yes, when he finally makes it home to the Cohens he thanks his lucky stars that both Sandy and Kirsten are working late for a change and that Seth is out with Alex, because he can head straight for his bathroom without having to explain to anyone why he wants to shower so early in the evening. And there he can turn the shower on hot as he strips off and finally allow himself to think about Lindsay naked.

Yeah, Seth is right, he wants to see her naked _so bad_. He steps in under the jet and closes his eyes, his hand grasping his hard shaft in a tight grip, and he starts stroking himself slowly, while in his head he undresses Lindsay Gardner just as slowly. He wants to strip her of her flimsy top and bra, and get to her round creamy breasts, topped by very erect nipples. Ryan bets her nipples are very pink, unlike Marissa’s pale brown ones, or Theresa’s dark ones – even darker and larger in pregnancy. No, Lindsay’s nipples are small and pink, and hard under his tongue, and when he sucks one into his mouth she cries out and arches under him and his dick jumps at the thought, so his hand goes a little faster, a little harder.

He lets his other imaginary hand trail down Lindsay’s body towards her pants and instead of rubbing her clit through the thick denim, he takes the initiative and pops the button open, then unzips her fly and lets his fingers get in under the elastic of her panties. Her lacy white thong actually, because if he’s going to make it up as he goes along he might as well make it good. And she is totally wet and begging for more as he slips his fingers onto her and into her and she starts moaning his name… and that’s all it takes for Ryan to come under the shower, hips jerking into his hand, with a groan that would be heard all the way to the big house, if there was anybody there to listen.

He wonders if she too touches herself after he leaves, and the thought is so enticing he decides to save it for his next private moment – which could well be later tonight, maybe when he goes to bed, because he bets he’ll be hard again thinking of her then.

Yeah. Lindsay gets him going – and then some…

\---- - -------------------------------------------------------------------

_Lindsay_

There are a few more hours of making out and touching squeezed into the next couple of weeks, but the next time they have an afternoon to themselves is on a Saturday, and Ryan has a really lucky break, because not only are Sandy and Kirsten out for the weekend, but Seth is working an afternoon and evening shift at the Bait Shop – and Lindsay agrees to come over for some studying in the pool house. Except that they both know they’ve done all the studying they could manage in the library after school, (because otherwise Lindsay _will_ feel guilty about fooling around, even if she is overcome by lust).

On her way over, Lindsay is trying not to think about what may or may not happen in the pool house with Ryan. She’s trying not to think about what she’s been fantasizing about last night when again she was finding it difficult to fall asleep. She’s trying not to remember how hot the thought of Ryan – Ryan touching her breasts, pulling off her shirt, slipping his fingers into her panties – made her, while her hand was busy between her legs. Instead she’s trying to focus on the road, because if she lets herself think too much about Ryan, she’s going to lose control of the car.

When she gets out of the car she hesitates. Should she ring the doorbell or go straight to the pool house? Will Ryan even hear the doorbell in the pool house? Part of her wants to be wanton and liberated and just walk into his bedroom and throw herself on the bed – because that’s where they will end up, anyhow – and another part is holding back, timid, teetering on the brink, urging her to go to the front door and at least pretend that she’d not just there for the making out. That part, however, loses.

She looks down at what she’s wearing, makes sure her blouse is just a little unbuttoned but not too much (so he can unbutton it some more, her inner slut says), she checks her lipstick in the wing mirror (so it can get smudged), teases a few locks of hair from her ponytail (like the ponytail will survive two minutes on the bed). She looks at herself and thinks she looks a little like a deer caught in the headlights. But she is excited too although they haven’t talked about anything and it’s entirely possible that Ryan won’t try to go any further than he did last time. Entirely possible but improbable, whispers the inner slut, and again, Lindsay knows she is right.

She walks around the side of the house, past the infinity pool that she teased Ryan with the first day they met, and she can feel her palms sweating and her heartbeat racing as she gets closer to the pool house. She can see Ryan lying on the bed, reading, through the door, and she is suddenly, irrationally happy. And when she is so close to the door that she is about to knock, he looks up, and springs to his feet and makes it to the door in the time it takes her knuckle to reach the glass.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Want to come in?” Ryan says and he steps back to let her through, but stays close enough that Lindsay has to brush past him to walk in, and she feels the heat of his body, smells his boy smell, and has to dig her nails into her palm to stop from flinging herself into his arms. Luckily, Ryan takes care of that by placing a hand on her arm, and drawing her to him. They stand, nose to nose, for a few seconds, and his eyes look deep into hers, amused and already a little aroused Lindsay suspects, because they look darker than normal and she knows what sexual arousal does to pupil dilation.

“Thank you for coming,” he says softly, his lips inches from hers, and Lindsay would answer something if her brain still had control over her speech functions, but she seems to be unable to stop staring at Ryan’s mouth. Or maybe unwilling.

Either way, she’s staring at his lips, and she sees them curve in a smile and then they get closer and he kisses her on the mouth, tentatively at first, a light touch which takes about two seconds to turn into a full-on lip lock with tongues, and wandering hands, which takes Lindsay’s breath away and leaves her gasping. She’s barely inside the pool house and they’re not even on the bed yet and she knows if he tries anything she will say yes. Anything.

It’s a good thing Ryan’s a nice guy.

They kiss for a long time standing in the middle of the pool house, Ryan’s hand on the back of her neck, in her hair (there goes the ponytail, already), while he strokes her cheek with his other thumb; Lindsay’s hands in the shaggy, slightly too-long hair at the back of his neck, their hips grinding against each other in what Lindsay thinks is the most exciting way ever, and she can feel exactly how aroused he is, how hard, and that makes her insides turn to jelly.

They pull away to catch a breath and she’s almost shocked to see how turned on he looks, his eyes unfocused and _hungry_ , God, hungry for her; his lips red, smudged a little with her lipstick (yeah, the slut was right, again), and when he says something to her his voice is so raspy and sexy she feels it in her groin, even though she doesn’t really hear what he’s saying.

“What?” she whispers.

“Come on the bed,” he repeats, and it is without a doubt the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to Lindsay Gardner in her sixteen years. She swallows, hard, and then looks around her at all the windows and gestures at them feebly.

“What about…”

He smiles at her, a slightly dangerous smile, and suddenly Lindsay sees him as a predator, which is something both extremely arousing and mildly scary – only mildly, because she feels she can trust Ryan, no matter what. Even though a little voice in her head is warning her that seventeen-year-old boys can get carried away, she _knows_ that he won’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to – and that he may well stop himself from doing things she wants to do if he thinks it’s going too fast. He’s been so careful, so slow with her (slow, but God, so hot, so… _skilled_ …).

He could have got to third base – is it third base? She doesn’t even know – whatever, into her panties – last week if he’d wanted to, she was so weak with lust, so melting under his touch and yet he never went further than her breasts. Because yes, he’s allowed full access _there_ now, and God, the things he can do with his tongue on her nipples have been driving her to distraction. And making her think of course, of his tongue elsewhere on her body.

While all this is whirring through her mind Ryan has left her side and lowered the blinds on the many windows, and Lindsay no longer feels that she is inside a glass box exposed to the eyes of the world, even if the world is out of the house this weekend. And when Ryan’s hands encircle her waist from behind and his hand brushes aside her hair, and his hot mouth starts kissing her neck she arches back into him, hungry for more.

He walks her slowly to the bed, kissing her eagerly, his tongue licking at her neck and up towards her ear, then down towards her pulse point, nibbling her flesh and Lindsay can feel her knees beginning to buckle, luckily as they arrive at the bed and fall together onto the bedspread.

And then there is a long dreamy crazy moment where she loses all power of independent thought as her body entirely takes over, and she is writhing on the bed with Ryan, gasping as the kisses get more passionate, and he starts unbuttoning her shirt (shut up, slut!) and his hands are on her breasts and her bra is off and oh, his mouth… And it feels like her nipples are directly connected to her crotch because every time his tongue or his lips or his fingers touch them there are licks of fire traveling down her body. She is spread out on the bed half naked, and moaning, dear God, moaning with pleasure and desire under his skilful ministrations and she is putty in his hands.

Ryan’s lost his shirt at some point during all the groping, and Lindsay can’t tell whether she took it off him or he tore it off in his haste, but her hands are tracing the hard muscles of his chest and abs, the pads of her fingers brushing over his nipples until his breath hitches and he groans and thrusts his denim-clad erection against her crotch, and she whimpers and thrusts back. And then they are rocking their hips together, and Ryan lowers himself onto her, hot skin to hot skin, and kisses her again and she loses herself once more in the passion. Until he pulls away a little abruptly, breathing very heavily, and Lindsay realizes he’s probably trying to avoid coming in his pants.

His hands run up and down her body, skirting her waistband, barely touching the skin there, and each time she wills his fingers to stop and slip inside her pants, but he trails them over instead, applying gentle pressure through her jeans but it’s no longer enough. She wriggles and tries to make him understand without saying or actually doing anything but it’s no use. He won’t do anything unless she gives him a really clear go-ahead – he already proved that when it came to going under her shirt. So next time his hand is anywhere near her waistband, Lindsay snakes out hers and grabs his wrist.

So he stops, and looks at her with a question in his eyes. And she forces herself to focus on him, and smile, while she – very carefully – places his hand on the button of her jeans, and blushes to the roots of her hair, because despite her determination to be brazen and wanton, she feels shy and anxious and embarrassed and also very, very aroused.

He opens his mouth to say something but then he catches the look in her eyes and he closes it again and grins delightedly instead. He undoes her button, pulls the zipper, and then his hand slips slowly and carefully into Lindsay’s pants, where no man has been before, and she catches her breath as his fingers brush her nub because it feels like an electric shock.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh…”

And Ryan’s grin widens when his fingers slip into her folds and she knows it’s because she is so wet – for a split second she feels horribly embarrassed, but Ryan seems to be able to read her and he dips his head back to her and starts kissing her, his tongue pushing past her lips to tangle with hers, forceful like he’s taken possession of her mouth. The rhythm of his fingers on her, in her as he slips a finger up her is triggering all sorts of amazing sensations, like when she caresses herself only a hundred times better, more powerful, and she can’t help moaning and whimpering into his mouth.

He starts kissing her neck again and descends to her breasts, and lower, his tongue tracing a path of fire down her body until it’s past her bellybutton and Lindsay realizes what he’s going for – or offering, because he’s stopped and is looking up at her, his eyes dark with desire. The thought of his tongue touching her there is terrifying and extremely enticing all at once, but then this summarizes neatly all this exploration they have been going through. And at the end of the day, she hasn’t regretted any of the decisions she’s made so far. So she nods and raises her hips a little so he can pull her pants off.

And then Lindsay shuts her eyes and surrenders entirely to Ryan’s hand and mouth, naked on his bed, her modesty forgotten in the maelstrom of sensations whirling through her as his tongue flicks over her clit, and licks her and applies pressure, stroking her in a slow rhythm which builds up until she feels it all crystallizing to a point and she starts riding his fingers, carried away on a wave which suddenly crests.

“Aaah!” she cries out and as she arches her back she can feel her whole body spasming and her heart exploding in her chest. And this is so much _more_ than anything she’s ever experienced on her own that Lindsay is completely disorientated as she falls back on the pillow.

“Oh my God,” she says weakly as the throbbing between her legs subsides. “Oh my God, Ryan. Oh my God.” She would like to say something else, ‘thank you’ maybe or ‘that was amazing’ or ‘how did you do this?’ but she can’t. She can just listen to her heartbeat thudding in her chest, and wait for her breathing to calm down.  
He scoots up her body and wraps his arms around her and pulls her close to his chest, planting soft kisses on her face and mouth – and she can taste herself on his lips, which is completely weird and maybe a little bit disgusting except he really didn’t seem disgusted at all so maybe she ought to revise that.

“You’re the first boy that ever did that to me,” she whispers, because she thinks he ought to know even if he’s probably guessed already, and he smiles and kisses her again.

“Thank you,” he says. And then he looks down at her whole naked body spread on the bed and back up at her eyes and grins again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice husky and deep, and he hugs her close, again.

And it’s maybe five minutes later, or fifteen, or more because she might have dozed off in his arms after the intensity of that orgasm, but Lindsay remembers that she might have just had the most amazing experience of her very short sexual history but Ryan, who’s been doing all the work, remains unfulfilled.

She has yet to see him naked, to confront his erection freed from the denim prison of his jeans, and she finds the prospect of it in equal parts intriguing, exciting, alarming and downright scary. But Lindsay is nothing if not fair, and she also knows that she’s going to have to tackle this at some point or another if she’s ever going to sleep with Ryan (which she is, there is no doubt left there, thanks, slut). So she disentangles herself from Ryan’s arms and looks him straight in the eye. She _will not_ be coy or ashamed or embarrassed. He’s just made her come under his tongue, for God’s sake, what shame is there left?

“Can I… return the favor?” she says, and her voice almost sounds normal. “I mean, I don’t really know what to do but you could... show me.”

The emotions she can see flitting across Ryan’s face are varied – there’s delight first then definitely more arousal, as he thinks about what she’s offering, and then doubt or rather a little concern, and then something more difficult to define, which could be the conflict between the last two. Ryan, usually the most difficult to read person she knows, is suddenly broadcasting his feelings like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe it’s the nakedness, thinks Lindsay – it’s hard to keep secrets from someone you’re naked with.

“You sure?” he asks with an almost begging quality to his voice – as in you’re sure, aren’t you, please? And Lindsay nods. He looks at her with unalloyed delight then, grateful even before she’s done anything.

“I’m not sure I can do what you did,” she says, her voice low, because she can’t quite bring herself to say the words ‘suck’ or ‘blowjob’ or even ‘going down’. “I mean, it might just have to be my hand. I’ve never…” Ryan cuts her off with a kiss.

“It’s okay,” he says, and as he pulls back his eyes are laughing. “In fact, it’s great.” And then he holds his hand out to her. “Give me your hand.”

He’s already unbuttoning his pants with his other hand and pulling off his jeans and boxers, wriggling out of them on the bed, and Lindsay is transfixed by the sight of his dick, so much… bigger than she expected somehow, and looking completely obscene, even pornographic. She’s only ever seen erect penises in photos, in dirty mags that circulated around school between the curious girls – the ones who hadn’t already experienced them first hand. This, this engorged shaft complete with swollen head and throbbing veins, it looks… daunting. But she lets Ryan’s hand place hers on it and is almost shocked by the softness of the skin, like silk or velvet, and the moan that Ryan makes when her fingers touch him convince her that yes, it is completely the right thing to do.

So she wraps her fingers around him, and he wraps his hand around hers, and she understands that she must grip him hard – much harder than she expected, actually, and he shows her the rhythm he likes, and she pretty quickly figures out that when she brushes her fingers on the head of it he really, really enjoys that because he hisses with the pleasure of it. And her hand sticks a little, so she licks it (because, okay, inner slut, she’s _read_ about it) and it slides better and she looks up at Ryan and he’s staring at her, his mouth half-open, panting, and his hips are thrusting into her hand probably without his brain interfering, judging by the unfocused look in his eyes, which is totally _hot_ by the way. Lindsay briefly wonders whether she looked so abandoned when he was going down on her and remembers she had her eyes shut but oh, she was louder, she thinks, and tries not to blush again.

She readjusts her grip, and makes it a little tighter and slides her thumb on the head a little more, and his hips are really bucking now and she can feel a spasm between her fingers and all of a sudden he’s coming, milky white spurts onto her hand and his stomach, and he’s groaning, back arched, eyes shut at last, and Lindsay is amazed that _she_ managed to make him do _that_. Because sure, he made her come but he knew what he was doing – and she really had not much of a clue. Boys are easier though, she’s read – and she’s pleased about that because it makes her feel less inadequate.

“Oh Jesus, Lindsay, that was fucking amazing,” Ryan gasps, and Lindsay wants to laugh because Ryan just wouldn’t say fucking to her normally, she knows that, so it really must have been quite something.

And he pulls her again into a tight embrace, kissing her face, her mouth, her hairline and jawline, her eyes and nose and throat, lots of crazy little kisses that make her giggle but she turns her face this way and that because it feels so good.

So this is sex, she thinks. Maybe not the real thing, but close enough – and so different from anything she’s experienced before.

\--------------------------------------------------

When she leaves later that evening, because her mom expects her home, Lindsay thinks she feels like a woman. She may still be a virgin, but there is definitely something in her that wasn’t there yesterday, or even a few hours ago. Maybe it’s the surrender or the nakedness or the fact that she let him see her in her entirety and yet she feels no shame. That’s it – the shame has gone.

Sex – for real, giving it up for Ryan – is no longer a nebulous proposition. In fact, she’s pretty sure he will be her first – when they get around to it. Right now, there is so much still to explore.

Also, now, she knows what it is she wants when she thinks she wants more. Her desire has a focus.

Yes, Lindsay Gardner definitely feels like a woman tonight. 


End file.
